


it's not just physical

by detectivemills



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:11:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivemills/pseuds/detectivemills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>And maybe that’s why, when he picked up a discarded copy of</i> The Evening Standard <i>from the empty seat next to him, he felt compelled to take down the number for a personal trainer he found in the ads right before the sports section. Maybe that’s why.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not just physical

**Author's Note:**

> Alyssa: au where Liam is a personal trainer  
> and Louis comes and is like I want to get rid of my stomach :(  
> Liam solves that problem with sex obv

It really started when one of Zayn’s stupid friends beat him to the stupid ball during their stupid weekend five-a-side. The guy just turned on his heel and breezed by, slashing the ball into the net like nothing was there to stop him in the first place.

Louis wasn’t mad; he was disappointed. He always prided himself on being agile and spritely-quick. Had he lost his touch? Because he doesn’t get beat to the fucking ball. 

“I don’t get beat to the fucking ball, I’ll have you know,” he said out loud. Just to make sure everyone knew.

Harry picked up one of the water bottles from the grass to slosh on his face. “Funny, ‘cos I think you just did.”

“Zayn’s friends aren’t allowed at these things anymore.” Louis threw himself down at the touchline. “Or I quit.”

Zayn shook his head slowly, slung his bag over his shoulder and turned the other way. “You’ve always been a sore loser.”

Louis _hrmph_ ed. _Sore loser my arse_ , he thought. He rolled his eyes at Zayn’s back just to get it out of his system.

Louis was still feeling shitty when they hopped on their bus home, Zayn and Harry sitting a few rows ahead – basking in the glory of a win that didn’t even matter, _who fucking cares_ – and maybe that’s why, when he picked up a discarded copy of _The Evening Standard_ from the empty seat next to him, he felt compelled to take down the number for a personal trainer he found in the ads right before the sports section. Maybe that’s why.

Maybe.

  
  
  
  
  


Louis was expecting an older dude in a sweatband and too-short shorts. Richard Simmons, maybe. Yeah, he was expecting Richard Simmons. He was _not_ expecting a guy about his age with thick arms stuffed into a grey t-shirt and a disarmingly happy smile, an unironic almost-fauxhawk, and a vice-grip handshake. This is _not_ what Louis was expecting.

"I'm Liam," the guy says. "I'm so glad to meet you."

“Louis,” Louis manages. “I am Louis.”

"Wonderful." Liam grins in a way that makes Louis wonder if he's ever _not_ smiling. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you and your body."

Louis chokes on a laugh because who says things like that? Is that a normal thing for someone to say? Wait -- is that how people talk to each other at gyms? Louis can’t be sure. He didn’t think the learning curve would be this steep, especially when he hasn’t even gotten past the introductions.

“Yeah. I, uh,” Louis tells him. “I have a lot to learn.”

Liam looks totally unaware of Louis's confusion. "We have a lot to learn about each other."

Louis almost asks _Are you_ serious _?,_ but instead just smiles back.

Liam takes him into a very clean office and pulls out some paperwork, starts talking session-per-week minimums and diet plans and can Louis swim? Does he want to work in some swimming? Because Liam’s specialty is cross training and Louis says _yes, yes, yes_. He could have been agreeing to sell his internal organs to this gym because it doesn’t matter what Liam is saying – at this point, Louis will agree with all of it. He signs on a few dotted lines and when Liam suggests they take a walk through the facility, Louis has a little talk with himself – _Pay attention! Stop staring at his mouth! Be a normal person!_ – and he manages to nod as Liam shows him a room full of stationary bikes that scare him shitless.

But when Louis starts paying attention, he realizes that he probably lucked out on a lot of levels – Liam is gorgeous, but it’s clear that he’s also some sort of fitness prodigy, a trainer and a teacher all wrapped up in one really awesome body. He makes stupid jokes – “There’s free tanning if you’re into looking like a carrot”; “This is where we keep all the free pens, but don’t tell anyone I told you” – and points out the machines that are almost broken and the rooms that are busiest during their scheduled appointments.

They get to the end of the tour and circle back to Liam’s office. “Here’s your Introductory Pack,” Liam says, handing him a folder. “It’s got our schedule in there, and also some of the scheduled classes we offer. I’d pick one to start going to on a weekly basis.”

“Gotcha.”

“And there’s some nutritional info in the back. For your shopping.”

Louis nods. “Gotta tell my flatmate to stop spending our whole budget on sweets.”

Liam laughs and Louis sees a few stars. “Yeah, I’d say.”

“See you on Wednesday, then?” Louis asks, pulling on his coat.

“Can’t wait!” Liam says, enthusiasm dripping out his ears. “And be sure to text me.”

“Wait -- ” Louis falters again. “What?”

“We confirm appointments via text to avoid last minute cancellations. My number’s in the Staff section of your New Member Guide.” It looks like Liam’s a bit flushed, but maybe it’s just hot in here. It is pretty hot in here, Louis reasons.

“Okay.” Fully recovered, he even remembers to shake Liam’s hand. “See you then.”

Liam’s face bursts into a smile. “See you then!”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“You _what?”_ Harry shouts.

“I joined a gym.” The more Louis says it, the better he feels about it.

“What possessed you to do that? Not you Zayn -- no, hold on, Louis’s joined a _gym._ I know.” He pulls his headseat off and crawls out from between the couch cushions. “Zayn’s laughing.”

“You two are rude,” Louis tells him, flopping into the chair across from Harry. “Why can’t you just support my newest life-affirming endeavor?”

"Because it's hilarious." As Harry stands up, a waterfall of crumbs drop off his shirt and onto the carpet.

“Vacuum that up, you little shit.”

“Never.”

Louis sighs. “Whatever, Haz. I just wanna feel better. Fitter. In more ways than one.”

“Is this about Eleanor?” Harry throws himself back onto the couch, but his face shows that he’s genuinely concerned. “She didn’t drive you to the bottle, but she drove you to the treadmill? Not sure which is worse.”

“No,” Louis says, but it sounds unconvincing to his own ears. “That was months ago.”

It’s Harry’s turn to sigh. “She’s not worth this, Lou.”

“It’s worth it to me! Who cares what motivated me to do it?” He sits up a bit straighter; all the better to tell Harry off. “I’ve _always_ wanted to be fitter. And I don’t wanna be keeling over at the half of all our football games anymore.”

“I guess that’d be a good thing.” Harry is placiated. All in a night’s work.

“Exactly. Thank you.” Louis can hear Zayn’s voice, tiny and far away, coming through the headseat. “Get back to your kiddie games. I’ve got a diet to get started on.”

Harry shoves the device back over his head, wiggling the microphone so it’s in front of his mouth again. “You’re going to be bloody insufferable, aren’t you?”

Louis heads off to the kitchen. “Absolutely!”

The last thing he hears Harry say is, “Zayn, help.”

  
  
  
  
  


Liam shakes his hand early Wednesday morning with far too much vigor. “Did you have a good breakfast?” he asks.

“Me and my flatmate ate some chocolate around four this morning,” Louis says before he can stop himself. “Shouldn’t’ve told you that, prolly.”

“No, that’s actually something I _need_ to know.” For some mysterious reason, Liam is still smiling; Louis wonders if he could ever muster up a mad face, or even a mildly frustrated smirk. “For this relationship to work, we’re going to have to operate on a full disclosure policy.”

“Can do,” Louis tells him, _except for the part where I want you to hold me down at the wrists with those giant arms. Won’t tell anyone that._ “I ate a chocolate bar at four this morning.”

Liam claps his hands. “Then let’s get on the treadmill, Louis.”

They stretch a bit first – Louis doesn’t think it’s one hundred percent necessary, but he gets to snatch a look at Liam’s back as it pulls against his t-shirt, so what does he know? – but after ten minutes on the machine he pulls the safety cord and slumps against the display.

“Done?” he pants.

Liam hops off his own machine; he hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Not even close.”

“I quit,” Louis moans. “I want my money back. All of it.”

“None of this, Louis. Come on now.”

“I want it all back so I can buy chocolate bars,” Louis says, slipping into a sitting position on the giant belt. He flares his feet out and lets his head hang loose between his sweaty shoulders. He probably looks – and sounds – like a five year old.

“We’ll try something else, yeah?” Liam asks, forceful in his suggestion. “You can’t quit on me already.”

Louis flicks his hair out of his eyes to look up. His body is starting to feel cold; some sort of exercise-induced shock. “Not quitting,” he croaks. “Admitting defeat.” He’s going to die on this treadmill. Sitting down, no less. This is it.

“Come try one of these.” Liam’s only a few machines away – he chose an elliptical this time. “Similar workout, but with less total movement. Lower impact. We can focus on specific parts of your body.” He claps again, only once. “Let’s try it.”

“Aren’t these for bums?” Louis hovers in front of the elliptical skeptically. His legs feel like taffy, stretched and gooey and unprepared to do more exercise things. He’s not quite sure how he’s standing upright. “Don’t need to work on my bum.” He peers over his shoulder. “Do I?"

“Just -- ” Liam cuts himself off and Louis doesn’t catch the look on his face full on, but he can’t miss the snap of Liam’s eyes to his face when Louis slots him a weak glare. “Just hop on, then.”

This time it’s fifteen arduous minutes of -- Louis doesn’t even know what to call it; running? Running in circles? It seems like the machine isn’t really doing anything but making him pump his legs in a circle, but all of a sudden his calves are burning and when they cramp, he pulls on the bars of the machine like the reins of a horse.

“Okay, done,” he breathes, flopping down to sit on one of the giant pedals. “Done, yeah?”

Liam brings his machine to a slow halt. “Louis.”

Louis grips his dead leg with his hands and lifts it over the side of the machine. Liam’s looking over at him kind of sadly, Louis thinks. _He_ isn’t the one dying. _“Liam.”_

“One more,” Liam tells him, jumping off his own elliptical. “This one -- you’ll like this one.” Liam’s in front of a bike this time. A bike.

Louis just stares. “If I wanted to go biking... I would’ve just gone outside and biked.”

“Can’t you humor me?”

“All my fringe is stuck to my face and I’m never going to be able to bend my knees again. Nothing about this is funny.”

“You -- okay.” Liam doesn’t clap this time; he wrings his hands together, cracks a few knuckles. “Last try. This one’ll do it.”

“I _hate_ this,” Louis whines.

Liam doesn’t look mad because Louis’s still pretty sure he _can’t_ look mad, but Louis can tell that he’s frustrated by the way he mumbles through a sigh, not meeting Louis’s eyes. Louis climbs up onto his bike without another word.

Liam tries to talk him through the whole thing but Louis can’t answer, can’t waste air on talking when he needs it all to survive. Louis stops after a few minutes, lungs wrung of all breath, and it’s only another few seconds before Liam turns the resistance down on his bike and slows to a stop.

“Our time’s up.” Liam hits a button on his watch. “We’re done.” He hops off his bike, turns his back to Louis. Louis can tell this hasn’t been an ideal session for either of them, but feeling like he’s wasted Liam’s time makes him feel worse. There’s only so much that whining and bravado can do to help him perform physically; he just didn’t think it’d be _this_ bad. His stomach bottoms out in a weird mix of shame, embarrassment, and dread.

 _“Jesus.”_ Louis thinks he’s going to have to get his legs amputated. They’re never going to work right again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“Sorry?” Liam pulls his face out of his towel. His eyebrows are pulled down into a confused sort of pout.

Louis drops off the side of his bike and leans his hands on his thighs, curled in on himself, breathing hard. “This was a lot worse than I thought.”

The frustration Louis thought he was seeing is sapped from Liam’s face; suddenly he looks crestfallen. “Oh man, Louis. I’m sorry.”

"Not your fualt." Louis feels physically and mentally exhausted. And also like he might puke. "I just can't do it."

Now Liam looks vaguely terrified. “That’s absolutely not true, Louis, you can, and -- ”

“I really can’t.” The adrenaline is wearing off; now he just feels flushed and embarrassed. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

“Are you -- what? That’s not -- ”

“No, it’s enough. For both of us. I’ll -- I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

It’s not a pretty exit, but Louis doesn’t have the energy to put on a show.

  
  
  
  


_hey louis its liam im really sorry abt today and i didnt mean to scare u off. im sory if i was unwellcoming or did not make u feel liek u could do it. that s my job you know? i wud realy love for u to come back so i can make it upto u. i think we can get past this nd really do great thing together_

Louis frowns at his phone. Is Liam functionally illiterate?

 _just come bak 1 more time. i cna make it up t u promiseeeee_  

 _Holy extra e’s_ , Louis thinks. Regardless of Liam’s fondness for vowels, Louis figures he’s got to respond; this seems as good a time as ever to start weaning himself off Liam.

_felt proper useless honestly. its just the start i know but its hard feeling like youre getting nowhere._

_give me 1 mor chancee_ , Liam responds. _i rly did a poor job prepareing u for this process its not somthing thats easy nd we shouldve talked mor berfore we started. im so sorryyyy_

His beautiful, big-hearted-and-chested personal trainer is begging him to come back to the gym. Louis feels like he physically cannot type the word "no."

_liam... m not sure_

_i cant let this be abad experience for us both i need us to try again pleeasse?_

It feels more like he and Liam are reconciling after a breakup than agreeing to run on a treadmill again. Maybe they skipped a few steps, but Liam sounds so earnest that Louis wants to give him another shot. He does. He’s just not sure if his body – or ego – can handle it.

 _if i come back_ , Louis types, _promise you wont try to kill me again._

 _wanst trying to kill u!!!!!!_ Liam tells him. _buttt yes promise proisme promisseeeee_

And just as fast as he tried to end this relationship, Louis has an appointment for the next morning. So much for breaking up.

  
  
  


It’s by some act of god that Louis shows up ten minutes early the next day; he chalks it up to nerves and catching the right bus. When he makes it to the locker room, he isn’t sure if he regrets the whole triumphant-return thing or if he needs to thank his lucky stars.

It’s only ten minutes, but it’s enough time to catch Liam off guard. Louis’s shoving his bag into a locker when he hears someone behind him, a quiet, “Oh!” and when Louis turns around, he’s faced with Liam wrapped in a towel.

“You came back!” Liam says. “And you’re early!”

Louis can feel his mouth falling open, his jaw going heavy and unhinged, and he can’t find a single impulse within himself to stop it. “Um,” he manages. His eyes take in the red of Liam’s shoulders, probably still warm from the hot water, and the thick lines of his chest. Louis feels like he’s melting.

“I’m really glad,” Liam tells him. “I wanna talk to you in a sec, but. Uh.” He scoots over to his own bag and pulls out a shirt. When he straightens up he holds it against his wet chest, covering his naked torso in what might be the most hysterical act of modesty Louis has ever witnessed. “Lemme -- I’ll get dressed.”

Louis pulls his eyes away from the line of muscle down Liam’s side and tries to make a more appropriate face. A happy face, even. Anything but the dazed face he knows he’s still wearing. “Yup. Yeah.”

When Liam returns a minute later, it’s with a look of both pride and unspoken apology painted across his face. He’s fully clothed with his hair fluffed up, and when he starts over to Louis with his arms open wide, Louis thinks that Liam might actually hug him. He sees the moment when Liam decides against it; he blinks a few times, lets his arms fall and his hands come together in one of those loud, jolting claps. The gooey-eyed apology has given way to only pride. “You really came back.”

Louis can only muster up half a grin. He refuses to let how he really feels – nervous and spastic and maybe an eighth of the way turned on – show on his face. “Told you I would.”

“C’mere.” Liam motions him over to a bench. Louis feels small next to him, weak and twig-like. Even his thigh seated next to Liam’s looks like it belongs to a twelve-year-old. _Squats_ , he thinks. _Need to start doing squats_.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the other day,” Liam starts, and Louis cuts in with, “Please -- ”

“No, no no. Just -- listen. You need to trust me. To make this work, you really need to trust me.” He pauses. “And we started off on the wrong foot. I didn’t earn your trust.”

“It’s -- ”

“Just --” Liam interrupts. “A little more, just -- I’ll finish.” His smile turns rueful, flushing as he embarrasses himself.

“I need to tell you that this isn’t going to happen overnight. And I need to tell you never to make yourself feel bad about failing, or falling down, or taking a break. Or even getting mad at me.” Liam looks up at him. “I was rude, the other day. I didn’t tell you any of this, and I didn’t think you were taking me seriously. But we’re going to do this together and you’re going to have to trust me when I say that I’m in this as long as you are. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis tells him. “I’m really -- I’m willing to try again, with you.” He can’t help but feel a bit validated; he didn’t really do anything wrong. People probably fight bouts of self-loathing at the gym all the time. And if Liam’s telling him he wants them to start over... if Liam’s really believes in him, Louis -- he can’t say no. “I’ll try again.”

“I’m really happy about this, Louis,” Liam says. Louis thinks Liam is actually going in for the hug, but instead he slings an arm around Louis, shakes him by the shoulder in what Louis can only assume is some type of physical manifestation of Liam’s support in his quest for physical fitness. Louis still isn’t sure about gym etiquette, but Liam’s warm pressed up against his side, fingers dangling halfway down Louis’s bicep, and Louis wonders if Liam could wrap his arms around him and still reach his ribs, how easily Liam could probably lift him off the ground, how --

“I’m glad you’re back, is what it is,” Liam says as he leans away, straightening up. “I’m glad I didn’t turn you off completely.”

Louis pushes his hair around, lets his blush dissipate before he looks back up at Liam. _Like anything about you could turn me off_. “Let’s get started then, hm?”

“I’ve got something really great planned.” Liam pulls the sweatshirt he just put on over his head as he stands up. “I’ll get set up. Get excited.”

Liam leaves the locker room and Louis waits for a second, feeling kind of nervous and kind of confused, because Liam’s arm wound all the way around his back and Louis still isn’t sure if he can last more than ten minutes on the treadmill without vomiting. He might be able to, he thinks, if it means Liam will hug him again. But: vomit.

After another minute Louis decides it’s in his best interest to see what Liam’s gotten up to. He takes the exit Liam went through and finds Liam in a big open room with light wood floors that isn’t unlike the gymnasium at Louis’s old primary school. Liam’s got a football resting on the top of his foot, jerking his leg up and down to keep it perched there, balanced and steady.

“Here,” he says, and he flings the ball off his foot in Louis’s direction. It hits the floor too close; Louis has to hop so the rebound smacks him high in the chest.

Liam’s turned around, walking away, so Louis only catches his words in an echo. “Bring it over here." 

There’s colored cones strewn about the floor, propped up in all four corners of the room and a bunch of random intervals in between. Louis rests his foot up on top of the ball and takes it all in. He slants a skeptical look at Liam.

“I checked out your forms from the other day,” Liam says, “and on one of them you wrote that you play football.”

“I do do that,” Louis answers, rolling his toe over the top of the ball. “Yeah.”

“So we’re going to play football. Sort of.” Liam points out across the gym. “Purple to green and back,” he says, gesturing to the purple cone at his feet and the green one halfway across the room. “Go.”

Louis furrows his brow, but trots around the purple cone and onto the green nonetheless. He dribbles the ball between his feet with ease and gets back to Liam feeling pretty good: he kept the ball in his control _and_ managed to follow Liam’s directions without doing something embarrassing, like falling flat on his face or having an asthma attack. Good start.

Liam nods. “Again. Twice.”

This time when he gets back, Louis pumps his foot against the top of the ball to bounce it off the ground a bit. He pops it up with his toe and grabs it out of the air.

“Purple to green to blue and back.” Liam doesn’t look impressed. Isn’t it Liam’s job to look impressed? Louis kind of expected as much.

But Liam starts calling out more colors – “Purple to green to blue to green to yellow!” – and Louis barely has time to look up at his face, nonetheless worry about Liam’s judgements of his physical prowess. He’s got to remember the colors and get around the cones before Liam calls out another list – “Green blue yellow blue purple red blue yellow!” – and Louis takes off, envisions his feet pulling the ball around the cone before he forgets what color comes next and messes up. If there’s anything Louis hates, it’s messing up.

It’s only when Liam starts adding stuff to the patterns – “Ten jumping jacks after yellow!” – that Louis realizes what Liam’s done – he’s made Louis forget he was at the gym.

Liam ends up stopping him after Louis manages to remember a list of twenty-six colors, finally looking properly impressed. Louis stops and props his hands on his knees to suck in a heavy breath, but Liam grabs him by the bicep.

“Let’s cool down,” he says, and gives Louis’s arm a tight little squeeze. “Walk.”

 _Weight training_ , Louis thinks quickly. _Gonna need fitter arms._

“Do you realize that you just did that for forty minutes?” Liam asks. He’s still steering Louis by the bicep. “You keeled over on the treadmill after ten.”

“It was that long?” Louis feels winded, but pleasantly so; his legs are warm and loose, and his chest feels stretched and full as his breathes.

“It was.” Liam’s finally let his face go. If Louis didn’t know any better, he’d think Liam had just won a Nobel Prize; his eyes are shining and giddy-happy. “I knew you could do it.”

“Wow.” Louis feels a smile creeping across his own face. “I’d like to thank my mom, all my sisters, and everyone back home for -- ”

“Next time I’m adding hurdles,” Liam interrupts, “because you didn’t thank me first.”

Louis’s face burns hotter than his thighs.

  
  
  
  
  


“I’m Superman!” Louis shouts. He kicks off his shoes with a bit too much force; one thumps against the wall and the other lands in a pile of newspaper next to the door. “I’m invincible!”

“Did you _really_ get rid of all my cereal?” Harry’s head is thrown back over the arm of the couch. Louis can see from the hall that he’s got his mean mug on.

“Are you referring to the six half-eaten boxes of Coco Puffs I found under the sink?” Louis heads into the kitchen to make himself something to eat. It’s still early afternoon; he’s surprised Harry’s even awake.

Harry appears at his side, wrinkly, too-big t-shirt billowing away from his chest as he jabs a finger at Louis. Judging by the state of his hair, he probably was asleep up until a few minutes ago. “That’s exactly what I’m referring to.”

“Why did you have them there? They got all mixed up with our cleaners.” Louis checks the meal plan magnet he slapped on the fridge last week. Liam had pointed to each column and described how Louis had to jump headfirst into it – the sooner he starts following the rules, the sooner his body will thank him.

Louis runs his finger down to the “late morning/early afternoon” box; he’s supposed to have fruit for a snack. Eh. He can live with that.

“I was hiding them from this stupid idiot I know who’s on a stupid idiotic diet and _throws away other people’s food_ ,” Harry says sharply.

“I had a really good time at the gym this morning,” Louis tells him. “Please don’t ruin it.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Did you do, like, ten pushups in a row or something? Get a gold star?”

“I ran. A lot. I’m actually not half bad, I think.”

“Wowee, Louis!” Harry starts, eyes open comically wide. “You might as well sign up for the Olympic trials. Throw away your Oyster, run everywhere. Start doing parkour, run up walls. Run run run.”

“Do you really miss your cereal that much? It’s all sugar.”

“Most of my diet is sugar. Don’t touch my cereal. There’s nothing wrong with cereal.” Harry pulls three packages of Pop-Tarts out of the closet and heads for the living room. “And stop talking about the gym.”

“You’re an awful sport.” Harry just grunts, and Louis pulls a banana off the bunch on the counter. There are three massive bags of cheese puffs sat out next to the toaster; Harry must have picked up new junk food when he realized Louis purged the cabinets of most of the old shit. He looks at the bags for a second and then to the banana in his hand. Bags, banana; bags banana. Bags, banana.

He thinks of Liam, screaming at cones and clapping his hands and squeezing Louis’s arm.

He pinches the bottom end of the banana, slips the peel off in one go, and takes a huge bite before he loses the will. Baby steps.

  
  
  
  
  


Louis uses up his monthly allotment of appointments in two weeks.

Liam greets him in the mornings by throwing the football at his chest, dropping the cones down on the floor, and running him ragged. Louis runs and runs and Liam beams and beams and Louis feels himself turning into a machine fueled by the sharp, approving light cast by Liam’s smile.

“How’re you feeling?” Liam asks early on a Friday morning. It’s Louis’s third week back at the gym and Liam’s got some sort of rough, handsome dawn-o’clock-shadow going on. Louis is having a hard time paying attention to the cones. “You set a personal best today on the line-to-line.”

 _I’m paying you out of pocket because I don’t want to go a day without seeing your dumb stupid happy face_ , Louis wants to say. _My gym bag smells worse than a public toilet but I can’t wash it because I have to come here every single morning_. That’s what he wants to say.

“I feel good,” he tells Liam.

Because he _does_ feel good, honestly; there’s a new, tightly-wound power in his legs when he takes off to swing around the cones. His breath doesn’t drag anymore, doesn’t come in those harsh, strained puffs. He hasn’t been weighing himself because Liam told him not to, and he’s quickly realizing those were never the results he was after – it’s about the feeling, not the number. It’s been two weeks of almost daily sessions and three weeks since he first quit and he already feels better about himself.

“Great.” Liam beams; Louis tries to keep his footing. “Something new, then.”

He leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with a person. For a second Louis thinks he’s ditched the ball, but then he realizes the new person is holding it, spinning it between his hands.

“This is Niall,” Liam says. “He sits at a desk in the lobby all day, so sometimes we let him come back here to get all his energy out.”

“I’m no animal, y’know,” Niall retorts. “Makes it sound like you’re letting me out of my cage.”

Liam shrugs. “Kind of am.” Niall shrugs back; he must not be as offended as he sounds.

“Niall here’s your opponent.” Liam gestures to the gym floor again as Niall smiles. _Just another pawn in Liam’s game_ , Louis thinks. “You’ll have to start getting around him to get from one cone to another. Understood?”

“Copy that.”

Niall throws the ball up into the air and lets it bounce off his head. When it slaps back down to the ground, he steps on it with his foot.

“Gonna come get this from me, Louis?” he says, and then he’s turning to run.

And Louis has to chase him, just like Louis has to hold his chin ups longer than Harry or wallop Zayn at every game on the Xbox or beat strangers to the ball in the park during weekend five-a-sides. Niall’s clear across the room before Louis catches up to him, and when he does Niall spins around to put his body between Louis and the ball, keeping the frantic bend and kick of Louis’s legs at bay.

“Bring it back, you two!” Liam calls. “Whole length of the gym.”

Niall tries to edge him out, runs his foot over the ball and changes direction a few times, but Louis sticks to him, keeps his mark. Niall bends his knees and uses his upper body to get some space between him and Louis, but Louis doesn’t pull off; he lets Niall back him up a step or two and then he dives in, ducks to the side when Niall takes too big of a step and slides the ball off the side of Niall’s foot.

“Ha!” Louis crows. He runs on the diagonal at first to keep Niall from catching up too quickly, but after a few strides he heads back toward Liam. He flips the ball up with his toe and it bounces at Liam’s waist.

“I don’t want this,” Liam laughs, bouncing the ball back at Louis. “Do it again. The whole length again.”

Louis drops the ball at his own feet and takes off, trainers squeaking against the wood floor. He can hear Niall half a step behind him, feels his elbow smash into his back when Louis turns on a dime and heads back in the other direction. But Niall catches him, wedges a leg between Louis’s and sends the ball skittering across the floor and into the far wall.

Louis manages to shift his momentum and catch up with the ball, pulling it back toward the center of the gym. Niall’s on top of him all at once and for a second Louis entertains the idea of laying him out, watching him sprawl onto the floor while Louis speeds off triumphantly, but he knows Liam wouldn’t stand for it; that would probably get him banished from the gym no matter how badly Liam wanted him to succeed, and then he’d have a reason for never coming back.

But after another minute of struggling, foot-to-foot clashes and a few forearms to the chest, Liam shouts, “Someone’s gotta score!” and Louis didn’t realize Liam had kicked two cones a few feet apart to make a goal, but that’s it. Louis spins, manages to circle around Niall so fast that he isn’t even facing the makeshift goal when Louis smashes the ball between the cones.

“Yeah!” Louis crows. He’s high on the adrenaline of it, of the spin move he pulled and the swooshing of the ball into the pretend goal and he clamors into Liam, punching not-so-lightly at his chest. “Check me out!"

Liam laughs all full and heavy. “Check you out!” he repeats. “Nice move." 

“Yeah.” Louis thumps Liam on the chest again. Because he’s close enough. And he can. “Check me out.”

Louis raises his eyebrows quick because Liam’s staring at him and Louis’s default response to that kind of gaze is flirt flirt flirt and Liam is fit fit fit and just as Louis is taking stock of the crinkles around Liam’s eyes as he smirks and the way his palm rubs against the short hair along his skull when he looks down at his feet – bashfully? Is that what the color on Liam’s cheeks means? Louis is starting to know it well – there’s a thud against the back of Louis’s head and he has to take a big step forward, knocked all out of sorts and off balance.

“Cocksucker!” Niall’s yelling. He’s not really mad, Louis doesn’t think. Or maybe he is. The ball he flung is rolling away, and Niall kicks it clear across the room with one big swoop of his leg.

“Fucking hell, Liam,” Niall spits. “Didn’t tell me he was so fast.”

Liam shrugs. “I didn’t know.”

Louis wipes his brow, catches Liam looking at him with fondness still in his eyes. He elbows Niall one last time and starts toward the locker room at a slow jog. “There are a lot of things you don’t know, Liam Payne!” he shouts over his shoulder, and now he’s won not once, but _twice._

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s barely half four when Harry and Zayn accost him in his own kitchen.

“Come out with us tonight,” Zayn starts.

“Don’t say no don’t say no don’t say no,” Harry chants. “Don’t say no don’t say no.”

Louis shakes his head slowly. “I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow, boys. Gym at 10:30.”

Seeing Zayn so dejected might not be worth it, honestly; his face crumples into a look of disappointment and disgust. “Really?”

“Really.”

“No use,” Harry adds.

“I haven’t been in three days,” Louis says, as if an explanation will help his case. “I had that optometrist appointment yesterday and then Stan needed me for that thing, and today he needed me for a _different_ thing -- ”

“Why are you still at this?” Zayn interrupts. “I don’t get it.”

“Hopeless, this is,” Harry spits, wandering into the other room.

“Okay, Yoda.” Louis fills a glass of water at the sink and drops his vitamins in, watches them fizz and dissolve. “What’s there to ‘get’?”

“What’s keeping you going?” Zayn asks.

“I like it.”

“No way.” Zayn isn't convinced. “Something else.”

“He wants to be ‘fit,’” Harry calls. “He wants girl legs.”

“I don’t want girl legs,” Louis clarifies. “I want _nice_ legs. Shapely legs. Maybe a bit more muscley. So the opposite of girl legs, in a sense.”

“Is there someone you’re trying to impress?” Zayn asks, and this is why Louis hates Zayn: too perceptive. “Is there a girl? Or a _boy?”_

Louis tries to look disbelieving when he says, “Nope,” but Zayn starts to smirk.

“Gotcha.”

“I said no,” Louis tries.

“Harry!” Zayn calls. “There’s a gym boy.”

“Are you kidding?” Harry sounds as if he might die of shock. “A girl drove you to the gym and now you’re staying because of a boy?”

“Cut it out, you two.” This is the last thing Louis wanted.

“Does he get your blood pumping?” Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Does he make your heart race?”

Louis pretends his face isn’t heating up. “This is why I don’t tell you anything.”

“Have you gotten him to pop his shirt off yet?” Harry asks, all liquidy and insinuative. “Do you stare at his bum when he’s running?”

“We’re done here.” Louis’s version of storming out is sitting with his back to the kitchen and tying up his shoes. “I’m going out.”

“To where?” Zayn shouts. “The health food store?”

Louis barks out a loud laugh. “As a matter of fact -- ”

He slips back into the kitchen and rips a piece of paper off the fridge; it’s one of the sheets Liam gave him, with nutrition information and recipes and the address for Liam’s favorite healthy place to shop. Perfect. _This’ll show them how serious I am._  

“I am!” he shouts, and ignores the peals of laughter that chase him out of the house.

  
  
  
  


He actually does go to the health food store. He nabs the last Boris bike outside his flat and takes a second to stretch his hamstrings before he hops on, memorizing the directions while he has his ankle bent into the crook of his elbow. The ride turns out to be nowhere near as awful as he expected; he can’t wait to brag to Liam about his Good Decision. The stupid, proud little smirk he knows he’ll see on Liam’s face will be more than enough.

The place is small, tucked between a hair salon and an Oddbins. It smells like a barn but he can already tell the selection is expansive. He’s glad he came. He should go new places out of spite more often.

He grabs a tote bag from the rack near the door – he isn’t sure if that means this place is taking itself too seriously or just seriously enough, but he’s willing to find out – and starts perusing the aisles. He takes his time to read the labels on things, checking out the ingredients and chemicals and fat content, and he drops a few things into his bag at a time: organically-grown grapes, natural peanut butter, low-fat mayonnaise. Shopping without Harry is nice because he can really take his time without worrying about someone hiding fruit snacks and biscuits and sweets under all the other stuff in the cart. He loves spending time with Harry – he spends _all_ his time with Harry – but the shopping’s easier this way.

He’s in front of the cooler that has all the juice with apple-mango in one hand and orange-mango-passionfruit in the other when someone taps on the left-hand carton – apple-mango.

“This one,” the person attached to the hand says, and Louis looks up to find Liam.

“Hey!” Louis says excitedly. “You’re a real person!” Which is dumb. But Liam, unfailingly in good spirits, smiles anyway.

“I’m a real person,” he agrees, holding up his bag. “Didn’t I tell you I’m here a lot?”

Of course he did. “Maybe. Don’t quite remember.”

Liam nods. “Well I’m glad you made it,” he tells Louis. “It’s my favorite place to shop.”

 _Gotta keep this up._ “What’re you in for today?” Louis asks.

“A ton of stuff, actually.” Liam clicks his phone on and opens something up. “Wanna see my list? To help you get an idea of where to start?”

 _I want to see anything you’re willing to show me._  “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Or, I mean -- ” Liam interrupts himself. “Unless you’ve been here before. Do you have a list? I’m -- it’s stupid to assume, sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Louis says. And then, because he wants to see the look on Liam’s face: “I’m a virgin.”

Liam’s eyebrows go through the roof. “Oh?” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, trying his best not to engage with the joke. “Yeah?”

Louis slips the orange-mango-passionfruit into his bag and shoves the other carton back on the shelf. “Absolutely.”

“Well,” Liam says, “look here,” and he starts reading the label on a jar of farm-fresh watermelon salsa out loud.

Louis has to pick up another bag before they’re finally done. Liam pulls things off shelves and Louis barely hears him, too busy watching his mouth move as he lists the merit of this spread or that grain, and agrees to buy it, anything, without a second glance. The triple digit total Louis is faced with at the till makes him wince, but Liam’s already out on the sidewalk and Louis can’t balk now.

Liam looks vaguely uncomfortable again. “Alright, so -- "

“Liam,” Louis interrupts, crumpling his receipt into a little ball and dropping it into his bag. He’s feeling bold after defying Harry and Zayn, feels like he’s accomplished something, and he’s going to ride out the feeling until the inevitable crash. “How do you feel about this Costa next door?”

“What do you mean how do I feel?” Liam asks, looking up at the sign. “I feel fine, I think.”

“Do the sugary drinks distress you? Do the ham and cheese toasties make you squirm?”

Liam looks even shiftier. “I actually...” he repositions his shopping bags higher up on his arms, shaking out his wrists. “I shouldn’t tell you this, probably.” He looks over at Louis, sheepish. “I end most of my days at the gym with a mocha flake with extra cream.”

“Liam!” Louis doesn’t even have to feign incredulousness; he’s genuinely shocked that his buff, health-crazed personal trainer just gave up such a dirty little secret.

Liam starts to walk, like he can’t bear his admission of guilt. “I _know_ it’s like fifty-three percent of my daily sugars and a ton of fat, but...” he trails off. “Sometimes I get it without the flakes or the extra cream, I promise. Most times actually, I -- I do that. I do."

“Unbelievable!”

“But you should never ever do it,” Liam says, shaking his head. “You should do as I say and definitely not as I do. In just this case.” There’s a sly smile pulling at his lips, small compared to the way he usually grins. “Most times you should do what I say _and_ what I do. But not now. Really not now.”

“I feel like everything’s been a lie.” Louis makes his eyes go wide. “This changes everything.”

“I know, I know,” Liam tells him, “but I’m still not the one who fucked off the treadmill after ten minutes.”

That one stings a bit, but Louis -- Louis can’t help but feel a bit of stupid, silly fondness bubble up in his stomach, something having to do with the way Liam is raising his eyebrows at him. _I’ve got jokes too_.

“Liam,” Louis says, throwing a hand over his heart. “You have cut to the core of me.”

“You’ve come so far,” Liam backtracks quickly, safely. “But you were in bad shape that first day.”

Louis makes an small indignant noise. “I don’t want to talk about it, Payne.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that,_ you know I -- ”

“I know you’re a big softy, Liam, it’s fine. I knew I was a mess when you took me in.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Liam tells him. “I’ve done my job, eh?”

Louis shrugs, lifting his arms a bit. “My arms are about to fall off, but otherwise I feel fit as a fiddle.”

“Maybe we should -- ” Liam starts, looking up at Louis carefully. “I mean, I taught you how to eat healthy, so maybe I should teach you to eat some shit?”

Louis squints a little, leaning in just a bit to bump Liam’s tangle of shopping bags with his own. “I guess I could go for fifty-three percent of my daily sugars.”

“Please don’t tell Niall,” Liam says. “He’d never shut up about it.”

Louis winks, because his personal trainer is buying him coffee and he’s barely even had to try. “Our secret.”

  
  
  
  
  


Later that night, he sends Zayn and Harry on their merry way with the promise of 3AM brunch upon their return – “Not your shit turkey bacon! The _real_ stuff!” Harry barks, and Louis rolls his eyes but agrees – and drags his duvet out into the living room to settle into the couch with the remote and a cup of tea. 

Nothing’s on because the people who schedule television programming know that everyone’s out drinking at this time of night. He catches the end of an informercial he’s seen a few times, then switches over to a late night talk show he knows his mum watches when she manages to stay up past 10. It’s nothing exciting, but it’ll do.

He’s half asleep, tapping lazily at a game on his phone when a text appears at the top of the screen. He opens his messages expecting it to be Harry letting him know when to start the food prep or Zayn whining, but it’s neither.

_where th fuck r ye_

It’s Liam. And Louis can tell Liam isn’t texting him on purpose; Liam is drunk. But he doesn’t want to ignore it... maybe Liam’s lost.

 _sorry?_ Louis responds. Doesn’t want to be rude or anything. Especially after the good-maybe-great-possibly-perfect day they accidentally spent together.

_where re yae_

Time to break the bad news.

_liam... you definitly have the wrong number haha_

_oh shiiiiiitttttt loouis_  
_ur name is lik m m8 i got it wrooooooong misattke lol lol_

1:14AM. Louis kind of wants to see where this goes. No harm no foul.

_lol yeah? that’s okay, hope ya find him ;)_

_funny lol he was n xt to me?? lol  
wat re u up to_

Bit late for small talk, Louis thinks, but still harmless.

_drinking tea under my duvet if were being honest_

????????  
_in mayfrar celebratiiiiiin cmeree_

_hahaha liam_

_cmere wananana see u_  
_:) :)_

Louis feels something pull in his stomach, something heavy and warm. He’s not daft; he knows what things like this lead to.

_thats a 40 min bus ride lol_  
  
_no but u shoud comeeee_  
_u do so godo at th guy_  
_iwanna see u danccceee_

And wow, Liam is doing the difficult part for him. Louis feels a twinge of discomfort because Liam must be absolutely pissed, but that doesn’t mean this can’t be fun for them both.

_werent you just telling me how awful i was haha_

And before Louis can think any better of it --

_and what makes you think id be a good dancer?_  
  
_ou just move so gooooood_  
_wwaannna see ru hips mvoe_  
_yiur so os epreetty_

Louis’s eyes go so wide he thinks they might fall out of his skull. He feels somewhere between wildly turned on and achingly embarrassed, because Liam is saying these things but he doesn’t actually _mean_ them. He can’t actually _mean_ them.

_hahahahah liam you absolutely flatter me_

_ssrious louuis cooome out eree_

As good as it makes Louis feel, he doesn’t want to embarrass Liam. He’d never have answered if he had known there was potential for that; Louis doesn’t like to play dirty.

_its quite late liam haha. and ill see you tomorrow yeah?_

_louiiiiiissssssisssssssss_

_another time_ , Louis tells him. _another time i prmise_

Liam takes a minute in responding and Louis’s heart creeps up into his throat, but suddenly he gets four messages in a row: all variations of his name with letters added here and there. _looooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuiz_ the last one says. He’s tapping out _take it easy liam hahaha_ just as Harry and Zayn bust through the door.

“C’mon Lou!” Harry shouts, zipping around the corner and into the kitchen. “Time for eats!”

Louis looks back down at his phone and sees that Liam is still typing. If he keeps entertaining Liam’s drunk advances, he’s definitely going to have to hide a boner while trying to fry bacon. Unadvisable, he thinks, so he heads to the kitchen and drops his phone onto the counter while he collects the things Harry’s thrown onto the stove. At least he didn’t light the burner yet.

“How was your night, boys?” he asks. He tries to camouflage the knocking sound of his phone vibrating with the pans he’s moving on the stove, but Harry hears the message come in anyway.

“Who’sat texting you so laaaaaaaate?” he asks in a whine.

“Yeah.” Zayn’s propped himself up against the fridge, eyes half closed and head lolling back against the door. Looking like he’s asleep while standing up is Zayn’s specialty. “All the people you ever talk to are in this room already.”

“It’s not a room, it’s the kitchen,” Harry tells him.

“The kitchen _is_ a room.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

_“No.”_

“Oh, okay Haz.”

“So you agree.”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“You’re a fuck, fucking with me -- ”

Louis hopes the sizzling of the food and the room-versus-kitchen shoving match will distract his friends from his phone for the duration of their ill-advised meal, but Zayn remains frighteningly observant in his inebriated state. Louis’s phone vibrates against the counter again and before he manages to grab it, Zayn’s hand slaps down on top 

“Who _is_ it?” he asks, trying to slip the phone off the edge so he can look at the screen.

“Stop, it’s no one.” Louis reaches over and gets his hands on top of Zayn’s. “Stop, Zayn.”

“The _bacon,”_ Harry whines.

“Who!” Zayn shouts, eyes going all wide and sparkly. Louis wishes he was mostly asleep like he looked a minute ago.

“Zayn, stop it,” Louis says through gritted teeth. “Can’t you just -- ”

“But who’s watching my food?” Harry asks, collapsing down into a chair at the table, a safe distance away from the new fight that’s about to break out.

Louis’s phone pulses again under the pile of hands and Zayn lets out a frightening laugh. An evil laugh. “It’s the boy!”

“Ugh.”

“It’s the boy!” Zayn crows. “Is he sendin’ you pictures of his dick?”

Louis throws his head back, indignant. “Zayn, ew.”

“’s what people do at 3AM, Lou. You would know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lou.” Harry’s made his way across the room and come up behind Louis, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him in close. His head hangs over Louis’s shoulder, and after surveying the scene he drops his chin into the crease of Louis’s neck. “You can text Gym Boy. Even if it’s late and he should be sleeping. But can you also watch the bacon?”

“You two are so awful,” Louis tells them. With Harry against his back and Zayn pinning his arms down, he’s afraid he might not win this one.

“Lemme just tell him how bad you wanna suck his dick and then we can all definitely go to sleep.” Zayn tries to pull the phone out again. “Then it’s definitely bedtime.”

“We’ve got to eat,” Harry informs him.

“Don’t upset Harry, Zayn. Please.”

Zayn makes a face that Louis has seen on fourteen-year-old girls. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“You’re going to have to hold Mr. Malik responsible for the burnt bacon, Harry. This is out of my control.”

Zayn’s body goes slack again as he extricates his hands to lean back against the fridge. “‘m only givin’ in ‘cause I’ve already seen Harry cry this week. And I’m bloody tired.”

“Thank you.” Louis pockets his phone before he misses the chance. He returns to the stove and jacks the heat back up; he’s got to put his friends to bed sooner than later.

His phone vibrates again as he’s laying a paper towel down to soak up the grease. He thought Zayn might have actually fallen asleep this time, but he hums out a little laugh when he hears the buzz.

“I ‘aven’t cried this week,” Harry announces, pulling a piece of bacon off the plate even before Louis’s managed to get it on the table.

“Just eat so we can sleep, yeah,” Zayn mumbles, flopping into a chair.

Louis turns the water on and stands at the counter to pretend to do the washing up. When he pulls out his phone and sees that his last three texts messages are just a series of smiley faces, he kind of wants to stick his face into the pan of bacon fat. That would probably be easier to deal with than this.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Before they get set up in the pool for their next session – “I told you crosstraining was my specialty! Get excited,” Liam had reminded him last week, but of course Louis forgot – Liam stops him to have A Little Talk.

“Remember when I told you to do as I say and not as I do? With the food?” he starts.

Louis waits a beat. “Maybe.”

“This is one of those things, too.”

“What, sending incessant drunk texts to a client?”

Liam’s face colors, but he breaks out that little smirk again. Louis loves the way the past few days have loosened Liam up; he’s stopped pretending to be a by-the-books professional and let a bit of his weird side shine through. He’s starting to feel less like a figment of Louis’s imagination and more like a real person.

“I promise that I won’t be bothering you like that again. I’m sorry.”

First Costa, now this. He’s not apologizing for the content, Louis notes; maybe they’re on the same page after all.

“S’alright. I didn’t mind all too much.” Louis gives him a smile. “Was it someone’s birthday you were celebrating?”

“A breakup, actually.”

“Oh.” Louis didn’t see that coming. “A -- friend’s?”

Liam shakes his head. “Mine.”

Louis gapes for a long second, reverting back to when he first met Liam, when he couldn’t even form words to communicate with Liam, and before he can recover to say something, Liam presses both his hands to Louis’s chest and pushes him backwards into the pool.

It’s not that Louis wasn’t ready; he just wanted to check out the water for a second. Dip his toe in, splash some on his chest, whatever. He was ready. He was just moving slowly. And then Liam pulled him aside to talk, and that certainly isn’t _his_ fault.

“I’ve gotta chart some stuff up for our next session, so I’ll be back in a bit.” Louis can tell he’s trying too hard to not laugh out loud. Liam looks over at the woman in the sleek black suit and matching bathing cap who doesn’t seem to be as amused by Louis. Well. “Don’t be a pain.”

“Calling your customers ‘a pain’ is not very professional, Payne.”

Louis’s a bit disappointed Liam is passing him off to someone else for most of the morning, but he forgets all about it when he’s huffing and puffing against the water only fifteen minutes later.

He’s winded when they’re through, but his legs feel fine; this time it’s his shoulders and back that feel warm and loose. Cutting through water took more energy than he thought it would. Louis wants to take back all those times he laughed at the kids at swim practice in their doofy trunks and caps.

He tries to hoist himself out of the pool and collapse gracefully but everything is slippery and wet and his arms aren’t working quite right. But suddenly there are feet in front of him and a hand on his bare shoulder and Liam is saying, “How are you feeling, Louis?”

“Awesome. Feeling so awesome.” Louis lets out a huge puff of breath, twisting at the waist to feel the pull in his shoulders. “When is this supposed to start getting easier? I thought I was doing good with the running-on-land thing.”

“I warned you. This is different.” Liam swings a towel off his shoulder and offers it to Louis as he pulls himself up. He gets a close look at Liam’s legs, thick and taut, and wants to collapse back into the pool. Who would break up with these legs?

“It’ll get easier soon,” Liam tells him. “I promise. Wanna stretch?”

“Are my calves coming along, at least?” Louis curves his back to look behind him. If he has to look at Liam’s legs, Liam has to look at his bum. It’s only fair. “They best be.”

Liam suddenly has some pressing business with a hangnail. “Absolutely,” he mumbles around the finger in his mouth. “We’ll keep with that.” He blinks. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Louis rotates again, his back to Liam. He’s going to make sure he looks. “Y’think?”

“I mean, I reckon they’re a bit fuller than when we started,” Liam says, managing a casual glance down. “Look here.” He reaches down to run his hand up Louis’s lower leg, pressing for a second on the bone of his ankle and stopping at the soft area behind his knee. “You’ve toned up.”

Liam’s hand stays at the back of his knee, squeezing just a bit, and when it shifts down to wrap around his calf, feeling some of the new definition, Louis can’t help himself --

“Liam, are you hitting on me?”

It takes a long moment for Liam to pull away. “That would be downright unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

He straightens back up and smiles at Louis, eyes squinty and lined crookedly at the corners, and Louis thinks, _Who in their right mind would break up with all this?_

  
  
  
  
  


Zayn and Harry’s new favorite joke is Has Louis Gotten Laid Yet? which isn’t as amusing as either of them honestly think it is.

“I’m leaving now,” Louis announces. His friends are hunkered down on the couch, shouting at each other from close range. Zayn might’ve slept on the couch last night, even; Louis’s not sure. He hasn’t been paying enough attention.

“Do you have everything you need, hun?” Harry asks, always the doting mother.

Louis shoulders his bag and turns toward the door. “What does that mean?”

“Trainers?” Zayn says. “Water bottle?”

“Lube?" Harry shouts.

Louis sighs. “Your name isn’t on the lease, Harold. No one would know you were missing.”

“Zayn would.”

“I’m not involved in this.”

“I hate you both,” Louis calls. “Bye.”

Liam decides they’re going to try something new today. “Lifting!” he says gleefully. “You still want to lift?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“What?” Liam asks, puzzled.

“It’s an American thing. It’s so you don’t have to answer a question.”

Liam nods. “Right. So do you -- ?”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Let’s go.”

Liam demos and Louis _yeah yeah yeahs_ – “Do I really need to know how to clean the footholds, Liam? _Do I really_?" – but it’s when he’s trying his hardest not to eat metal that he hears the pound of quickly moving footsteps and the sound of Niall’s lilting voice.

“Why so many mirrors?” someone asks, and Louis wants to crawl under the weight bench and die.

“So people can check themselves out, obviously,” he hears Niall answer. Louis can’t see, but they must be standing right behind Liam; when Louis looks up, all he sees is the hem of Liam’s shirt – it’s not loose enough for Louis to see up it, which is a crying shame – and his head nodding in slow encouragement. Maybe Niall will walk them right by, maybe --

“This’s Liam,” Niall says, “and --”

“Hey Louis!” Harry shouts.

Liam continues to spot Louis, but another perplexed look takes over his face. “Hold on, is this -- are you giving a tour, Niall? Do you all know each other?”

“Niall here’s showing us all the different membership packages available for first-time gym users,” Harry says, stupid and smug, and if Louis wasn’t trapped under 30 kilos of giant metal discs, he would kick him square in the balls. “And I live with Louis. I’m Harry.”

“I’m Zayn,” Zayn chimes in, “and I practically live with Louis.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Liam grins over his shoulder. “Louis, finish this rep and we’ll take a break to talk to your friends.”

“No,” Louis grits out, struggling to grip the bar and lift it into the slot. It’s like Harry and Zayn appeared to showcase his spindly arms. This is a disaster. “I’m disowning them.”

“What?” Liam asks, all genuine confusion. “C’mon Lou, get it up.”

“Get it up, Lou!” Zayn laughs. “Get it up!”

Louis slips the bar into the stand and sinks into the bench. “These are no longer my friends.”

Harry looks so happy it might as well be his birthday. “Get it up!”

“We could take a look at the pool, if ya want,” Niall tries. “There’s a sauna, too.”

“We’ll meet you in a bit, Lou,” Zayn says. Louis will have to give Niall a really great tip this Christmas.

“Take your time in the showers!” Harry calls over his shoulder.

“They seem like fun,” Liam says quietly, mouth twitching, and it’s been long enough – Louis can tell when Liam’s fucking with him.

Louis tries his best to shower quickly and make it out before Liam can question the deranged company he keeps. He finds them out in the parking lot when the session’s over, leaning against the bus stop.

“You went too far today,” Louis hisses. “You’re embarrassing, the both of you.”

“We just wanted to hang out!” Harry insists.

“And meet your friend,” Zayn adds.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. There’s not even anything to talk about.” Louis starts heading up the sidewalk. “And this isn’t our bus stop, you shitheads.”

“What is _with_ you two?” Harry asks from close behind. “He was looking at you like he’s never done anything more exciting than spot you while you’re bench pressing.”

“He always looks like that,” Louis mumbles. “That’s just his face.”

“There’s something,” Zayn says, sticking his elbow into Louis’s side.

“Here’s what you do, Lou. Here’s what you do,” Harry starts to tell him him as they cross the street. “You do all your exercise crap, get all sweaty.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“And you just, when you’re doing your lifts or squats or lift-squats, you -- ”

“Neither of those even -- ”

“ -- pull down his joggers and -- ”

“I’m not going to _grope_ him!”

“It’ll show him you’re interested!”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “interested in being sectioned.”

Louis throws himself onto the bench at their actual bus stop. “Let’s just stop talking about this. Because there’s really nothing at all to talk about.”

Zayn sits down next to him. “Honestly though, Lou. He seems quite nice.”

Louis hangs his head, determined not to acknowledge them. After a beat, Harry says, “Since we’re not kidding anymore, I guess I should say that I can tell you like him. Like, more than -- more than you’re supposed to."

“Way to make me feel bad about it, Haz.”

“I didn’t -- not like that,” Harry replies. “Just that you like him more than a person is supposed to like their personal trainer.”

“And he wouldn’t text you late at night if he wasn’t interested in you too,” Zayn adds.

Louis sighs, busies himself with rearranging his fringe. “We just -- he’s never said anything. He says, ‘Long night, sorry,’ or, ‘Glad we both made it this morning, ha ha,’ but never, like. Never _says_ anything.”

“Maybe you’ve gotta say it,” Zayn says.

“Don’t wanna embarrass him,” Louis admits. “Sometimes he’s really funny, but other times he clams up all weird.”

Harry shrugs. “There’s always my suggestion...”

“Yeah Lou, there’s always Harry’s suggestion.” Zayn raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“This is why I don’t tell you guys stuff, you’re never helpful,” Louis tells them. “You just stalk me to the gym and make me look dumb.”

Harry laughs and Zayn just shakes his head, above it all. There’s the heavy sound of tires and the shuffle of people as their bus pulls up.

“Oh look, our bus is here,” Louis says, joining the queue. “Time to pretend I don’t know you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s when Harry and Zayn finally bully him into having a night out – and Louis admits, it’s been a long time since he’s gotten properly shitfaced – that he breaks.

At first it’s just the three of them taking their time and getting ready, but soon Harry insists upon turning his speakers up as loud as they go and pulling all the shot glasses out of the recesses of their cabinets. He lines them up on the coffee table and Louis says, “I don’t like where this is going,” but no one hears him over the music.

Zayn comes into the room and throws himself on the couch. “There’s nothing in those,” he shouts.

Harry holds the bottle sideways above them all. “Watch. I’ve seen this on the telly.”

Louis barely gets out a, “Don’t --” before Harry tips the bottle, tries to fill all the glasses in one swift motion. Liquor drips everywhere and Louis can see himself waking up tomorrow morning, tired and hungover, scrubbing sticky rings of tequila off the table before he has to head out to the gym.

“Huh,” Harry says. “It looked much easier when someone else did it.”

“Nice, Haz,” Zayn chides. “Let’s just drink them before you make it worse.”

Louis loses track of how much liquor Harry pours on the table. After the fourth try, he doesn’t even bother to fetch an arms length of paper towels.

“Never gonna win any bartending awards, mate,” Zayn quips before he turns the music up even louder.

“Don’t even exist, those,” Harry tells him. When he looks back at Louis, he catches him surveying the mess.

“Leave it, Lou. Haven’t spent a night with you in ages. Let’s just enjoy it.”

Louis thinks about the last time he spent more than ten minutes with his two best friends; it’s been a while. Longer than he can remember, really. They haven’t been to a pub or a club or even a restaurant in weeks, maybe months. He’s known them both for years, twice as long as any of his other friends, and he can’t say he knows what they’ve been up to since -- he started going to the gym, he guesses.

He pours the next round of shots himself. “Ready to go, boys?”

“Yeah!” Harry whoops, fists pumping. “Let’s do this! C’mon, Zayn.”

They hop on a bus that weaves in and out of traffic, past messy bunches of lights and people. Louis finds it worrisome that Harry claims he knows where they’re going, but Zayn’s keeps track of the stops and yanks them all off after a few minutes.

Louis feels light and loose and lets Zayn keep a hand on his wrist, lets Zayn pull him down the sidewalk and through the entryway of a place that Harry likes. It’s a club that’s stupid dark and incredibly loud, so Louis makes sure Zayn knows they have to go directly to the bar to make it okay.

“Take this,” Zayn tells him, and suddenly Louis’s holding an oversized glass that appears to be mostly full of cherries.

Harry pulls him back toward the dance floor as soon as Zayn’s wrangled another two drinks from the bar. It’s not long before the music feels like white noise and Harry’s hand on his elbow, pulling him in to shout in his ear, and Zayn’s stupid manic dance moves, jumping and head bobbing, remind him of all the reasons why they used to do this four nights a week.

Louis gets his foot stepped on and a cherry stem stuck in his throat and when he turns around, eyes watering and the world blurry, Harry already has lipstick on his cheek. Zayn’s hysterical, stomach curled in laughter, and waves them both off, takes their glasses and fetches another round. Harry smirks stupidly in the purple-pink-green-blue light and pretends he doesn’t think it’s as funny as he knows it is.

Zayn comes back to hand off a trio of new drinks while Harry thumbs the lipstick off his face, chewing on his cocktail straw.

“Yeah?” Zayn yells, grinning. “Honestly, it's a nice color on you, Haz.”

“Shove it,” Harry says, pushing at Zayn’s shoulder, but Zayn grabs him around the waist and pulls him into a hug that might be more for the benefit of their balance than any type of truce.

Louis laughs with them, musses Harry’s hair a bit. When he notices his phone vibrating, reminding him of messages, he pulls it out of his pocket and barely registers the sender’s name before he knows who it is.

_hiiiiiiiiiiii_  
_looooooouuuuuissxssss_

It’s not every weekend, but it’s often enough – Liam. On a good night, Louis gives it back as good as he gets it; it’s not like he doesn’t like the attention, and he’s usually content to receive it good naturedly and let Liam bumble through one of his weak apologies. He takes another sip from his glass. But tonight...

“Nope,” Harry says, reaching out with his drinkless hand to cover the screen of Louis’s phone. “Not now. We’re _busy.”_

“Wait, is it -- ” Zayn cranes his neck to see the screen over Louis’s shoulder. “Is it him?”

“He doesn’t -- ” Louis can barely lie about it anymore. “No.”

Harry grabs him by the arm and gives him a shake. “Go see him!”

Louis’s about to pocket his phone when it lights up with another message.

_myfair_

“Jesus, practically next door,” Zayn says into his neck. Louis can feel the heat of his chest pressed against him, feels one of Zayn’s hands pushing against his side. " _Go._ ”

Louis stares down at his phone. Harry’s maybe talking and Zayn’s maybe touching him and all Louis can see is Liam in a dark club a few blocks away, mashing the buttons of his own phone into a message that’s something close to _come hither_.

Louis wants to go. He wants to go bad.

Before his brain can decide, Harry pushes his hand toward his face so he can swallow the dregs of his drink and Zayn takes him by the wrist again. When they get outside, Zayn spins him in a half circle.

“This way.” Zayn might be drunk, but they all might be drunk. “You know where you’re going, yeah?”

“No. But yeah.”

“Perfect!” Harry yells. “Call us, ‘cause we’re right here. We’ll watch you.”

“Right. Okay.” Louis is still kind of staring at his phone.

 _where re ya_ he manages. He doesn’t feel the same wave of shame that usually washes over him when he responds to Liam’s late night texts; this time it’s the thrum of excitement, the thrill of want.

_funky biuddhahaha_

Louis kind of scoffs at what can only assume is the name of another obnoxious club. He’s aware enough to know that it doesn’t sound like any place he’s ever been, either.

_?? hahaahs_

_berkely st_

His phone does the navigating and Liam spots him before he can even get to the club’s door, lurking against the wall near the row of people queuing at the entrance. Louis can’t tell if Liam smiles at him in the dark, but he heads Louis off before he can get anywhere near the door, pulling him by the wrist toward the slim space between two buildings.

“You came,” Liam says, a numb, vaguely shocked look settling onto his face, and there’s a joke on tip of Louis’s tongue, something cheeky and overly sexual – “Couldn’t resist, huh?” – but he doesn’t get the chance to speak, barely gets the chance to move before Liam’s yanked him close. Louis gets a hand on Liam’s belt and holds on tight.

Louis feels weighed down by Liam’s mouth, dumb with how much of Liam he can feel pushed up against him. He slips his hand up Liam’s shirt, runs his thumb along the ridges of Liam’s stomach, the muscle of his abs and his mind, his stupid fucking mind takes him back to Liam begging him not to tell anyone how many calories he consumes in coffee every day – _but where does it all go?_ Louis is wondering – and Louis wants to giggle, wants to laugh and have Liam laugh with him, but Liam’s mouth is open and bearing down hard against his, his thick bottom lip dragging hotly against Louis’s own, and it turns out that none of this is a laughing matter.

It’s another second before Liam walks him back a step, further into the shadows, and takes Louis by the forearms to lift him straight up, teeth still playing at Louis’s lip. Louis wants to flail, wants to kick and scream, but instead he gasps and lets Liam keep him there for a second, suspended in midair, legs scrabbling for purchase against Liam’s sides until he can hook them against the curve of his arse. He breathes out hard against Liam’s jaw and goes in for another kiss, thrilled by the new angle he has to use in this fight he’s waging against Liam’s mouth. It’s been years since Louis has had leverage on someone like this and he takes advantage of it, revels in it, pulling Liam’s head back to bare his whole neck.

Liam’s arms hook under his arse, tighten and pull their hips together and Louis’s dick strains against his jeans. Liam rocks a bit; Louis’s back scratches against the wall and Liam’s hips roll up, fucking him into the wall without the actual fucking and Louis thinks he might be going crazy. He wishes he could see what they look like: Liam pinning him against the brick, arm muscles straining against Louis’s weight, his own face buried in Liam’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and mouth hung open because he’s about to come in his pants like he’s fourteen again.

He bites Liam’s neck when he does, a dense spot under his ear that makes him choke and buck his hips. Liam loosens his arms, lets Louis down as his chin jostles its way off Liam’s shoulder and back onto his own. When Louis’s feet hit the ground his knees buckle, legs burning and Liam holds him, holds him against the wall and breathes with him, still warm and hot and close. Louis blinks and finds his mouth on Liam’s again. Louis keeps a hand on Liam’s side, fists into his shirt and feels his knuckles hit Liam’s ribs.

Louis’s still breathing hard, winded like he’d been running, and he must’ve caught whatever Liam’s had because he feels himself smiling. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the ground for a second. Composes himself. That all happened faster than he thought it would.

When he finally looks up, Liam’s eyes are still closed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


And suddenly Louis is in his bed.

The clock on the wall says six and Louis has no idea if it’s AM or PM; did he sleep for an hour or twelve? Did he miss his appointment with Liam? It’s going to cost him.

Liam. Oh man, Liam.

He rolls over, buries his head under his pillows. Moving probably wasn’t the best idea, because something feels like it’s sloshing around in his skull – the liquefied remains of his brain? – and a pressure shifts and presses against his eyes. It might not be worth moving ever again, Louis thinks. It’s kind of the same feeling he had after his first day at the gym.

No matter what time it is, Louis quickly realizes he’s not going anywhere. He gets out of bed only to visit the bathroom – first to throw up, then to wash the stench of dried sweat and smoke off his skin. When he peels his shirt off, he finds a set of matching bruises on his biceps and another across his hip, dark and already purpling. He remembers Liam touching him, holding him, lifting him, and suddenly Louis feels like he’s losing his balance both mentally and physically. He plants his feet in front of the toilet – solid ground – and throws up one more time.

By the time Louis’s finally quelled his day-long hangover with a ceaseless regiment of water, coffee, and questionable takeaway, it’s time to head back to the gym. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say to Liam; _ha ha_ , maybe, _gotta work all those toxins out of my system_? Definitely not poignant enough. He can see Liam laughing it off, blushing furiously; Louis knows he’ll blush too, looking down and pretending he isn’t trying to catch a glimpse of Liam’s pretty grin. Maybe if Louis ribs him enough, he could even try  _I know a good wall..._

He’s still working on the perfect semi-tasteless joke while heading through the lobby, and he’s barely paying enough attention to catch Niall waving him over from the front desk.

“How it hanging, Nialler?”

“Louis...”

“What?”

“Your, uh -- today’s appointment isn’t for another two hours,” Niall tells him, punching a couple keys. “You wanna hit up the sauna?”

Louis rolls his eyes playfully. “My appointments have been at 10 for the past three months, Niall. C’mon.”

Niall runs the mouse across the screen, clicking a few times. “Yeah, about... that.”

“About _what_?”

“Your appointments are no longer at that time because your trainer is no longer with us,” Niall says robotically. “His position has been terminated.”

Louis squints down at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not supposed to -- ”

“Spit it out, mate.”

Niall sighs, letting his shoulders drop. He finally looks up at Louis. “Liam quit yesterday. He’s gone.”

Louis’s eyebrows pull down in confusion. “What do you mean ‘he’s gone’?”

“He said he did something stupid and now he’s having a thing, he’s -- I don’t know, he’s freakin’ out. He wouldn’t even come pick up his shit.”

Louis just stares.

“And I don’t wanna say too much ‘cause of -- ” Niall waves his arms around “ -- work and shit, but I know he’d wanna see you.”

“I don’t -- ”

“He wouldn’t say it, but I know he’d wanna. See you. And talk.”

“So do I --

“If I know Liam, he’s probably had a relapse.”

“A what?” Louis isn’t trying to talk in half sentences, but he’s doing the best he can.

“A boxing relapse, he doesn’t -- he thinks people’ll think he’s a thug. He started a long time ago and goes back to it whenever it he can’t, like. Deal.”

“At least he’s not drinking,” Louis mumbles. “How -- ”

“Here,” Niall says, tapping on the keyboard again. “It’s here.” He scribbles something down on a piece of paper, rips it in half and hands it to Louis. “It’s west a bit, but I know he’s there. You should go.”

“Are you -- ”

“Just go, Lou,” Niall tells him, voice strained. “Now. He’ll wanna talk to you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“This is a remarkably healthy coping mechanism.”

Liam looks over, shrinks back from his punching bag. “Why in the world are you here?” he pants. His voice reminds Louis of the way he sounded the other night, breathing hot and hard against Louis’s mouth.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Louis asks lightly. They’re still doing that thing, talking circles around what they should actually be talking about. Louis’s never used more euphemisms than when he’s at the gym. Not even with Harry.

“No, I can’t see you.” Liam waves him off with a gloved hand. “You should go, probably.”

“Don’t wanna.” Louis’s made it over to the mat Liam’s working on. His body is hidden behind the punching bag hanging from the ceiling, but Louis can see his head moving up and down, chest heaving with exertion.

“Wanna talk?”

“We can’t, mate,” Liam says, and Liam’s never called Louis that before – mate. Now they’re mates. Mates.

“Liam, c’mon.” Louis shakes the punching bag, smacks it into Liam’s side. “We’ve never -- we’ve been playing around it for months. What’s this all been?”

Liam takes a really deep breath as he extricates his hands from the puffy gloves. “I don’t --” he starts. They drop, two dull thumps, at his feet. “I don’t think you should be here.”

“ _Liam_ \--”

“I need you,” Liam says, voice stern and sharp in a way Louis’s never heard before, “to not be here.” His face has become a tight mask, eyes drawn and lips pulled into a line. This is the first time Louis can remember seeing him look anything past playfully perturbed; he actually looks angry.

Louis should go. He knows he should go. He really isn’t sure why he’s pushing this, why he’s upsetting Liam and frustrating himself. He could find a new gym, he thinks, and forget the whole thing. Leave Liam to his punching bag and his misdirected aggression and just go.

But he remembers Liam with his arm around him in the locker room and the look on his face when he told him that they were going to do this together. Now that Louis has that in his mind – together – he can’t just turn and leave.

“We need to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Liam says.

Louis rolls his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been telling Harry and Zayn for months and they’ve finally called me out. Let’s just -- can’t we talk about it?”

Liam sighs. He looks out of sorts, tense and dark-eyed and Louis realizes that even though Liam’s proved that he can get upset, Louis never wants to see this look on his face ever again.

“I was really stupid, with meeting you the other night. And I -- Jesus, why do I do that?” Liam pulls his hands over his head, running through his hair and down over his eyes. “I told you all that stuff when you came back to the gym and then I took advantage of you -- ”

“You took advantage of me?” Louis repeats. “When?”

Liam slants him a crazy look. “The other night.”

“When? When you lifted me up with, like, two fingers? When you slammed me against the side of a building? When you made me come in my pants?”

Liam looks scandalized. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, so -- like it’s okay.”

Louis eyes may fall out of their sockets. “Was it not okay for you? What part wasn’t okay?”

“Louis, I told you all that stuff at the gym and I, it’s -- I betrayed your trust. I told you we were going to do it together and as soon as you were improving and looking better, I couldn’t help myself and I -- did what I did.”

“I’m confused,” Louis says. “You think you made me do those things?”

“We had a working relationship that I took advantage of.”

“No way, Liam.”

“What?”

“You just never -- even when you were texting me late at night, you never... you never actually _said_ anything. And then the next day you were always cryptic and coy.”

“I didn’t want to lose my job.”

“It was just -- you made me feel like I was crazy. Like I was imagining it. The thing between us.” Louis gives a breathy little laugh. “I never knew what to take seriously.” He shrugs. “Because I don’t take much seriously.”

Half of Liam’s grin is back, his lips bending up at the corners. He looks Louis in the eye. “I just didn’t realize you felt the same way.”

“Really?” Louis insists. “Really?” He’s smiling and Liam’s blushing. “Because I definitely did this a couple times.” Louis turns around and sticks his bum out, looks over his shoulder to make sure Liam’s still with him. “Definitely did this.”

“I thought that was just a thing you did. You were just like that.”

“Like what? Like a person who talks about their bum all the time?”

“Are we really going to argue about this?”

“Nope,” Louis says, and leans into kiss Liam again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Louis gets used to Liam making his tea and always putting the remote back in the bowl on the coffee table and sleeping in his bed, but he never really gets used to seeing his bare chest.

“Have you seen my grey shirt with the buttons at the top? Is it in the wash?” Liam asks one day, walking into Louis’s room in only his pants. “I like that shirt.”

Louis puts his phone down carefully and launches himself onto his bed. “Ughhhhhhhh.”

“What?” Liam leans over Louis’s lifeless form.

“You just -- without a shirt. You.” He covers his face with his hands. _“You.”_

Louis feels Liam’s weight on the bed, feels his knees crowd against his hips. Louis peaks through his fingers and catches a glimpse of the exact stupid dumb smile he saw behind his eyelids.

“Ew.”

Liam gets a job at a gym equidistant from both their flats and, by way of a glowing reference from Liam, so does Niall. Louis still sets up regular appointments, but now they spend just as much time laughing as they do running. A lot of things remain the same, too: Liam still drops the cones all across the gym, Niall still tries to break Louis’s legs, and Louis still runs.

Harry doesn’t do anything too embarrassing early on; Louis warns Liam about the nudity, the excessive video gaming, the meticulous way Harry organizes the kitchen cabinets. Liam knows how to win over a crowd and appears with donuts when he knows he and Louis are going to wake Harry and Zayn – a newly permanent resident of the couch – in getting ready for their crack-of-dawn off-day runs. Luckily by the time they get back, Harry and Zayn have eaten them all.

“Getting paid to spend time with your boyfriend,” Harry mumbles one morning, mouth full of donut. “What a slag, Liam.”

And just when Louis thought he couldn’t have it better, Liam smiles. “Let me get you a napkin, Harry.”

The vote is a unanimous _yes_ when, five months after his workout regiment began, Louis invites Liam to his first five-a-side. Louis’s return to weekend football had been almost half a year in the making and he’s not about to let anyone forget it.

“We realize what a momentous occasion this is, right?” he announces, toeing the ball at the touchline. “This is my comeback.”

Harry rolls his eyes, standing on their half of the center circle with Zayn and Niall. “Can you please just come over here so we can kick it off?”

“Unexcitable bastard,” Louis pouts, shaking his head, but he brings the ball – slowly – onto the pitch anyway.

Liam’s hunched over pulling on the laces of his boots a few feet from the center spot. Louis watches him as he deliberately ties two triple knots, and when he springs up, hopping up and down and breathing heavy, all adrenalined up like he always was at the end of their sessions at the gym, Louis feels himself smiling without any input from his brain. Liam takes another hop, pulling his knees up to his chest, and when he lands, he turns to Louis and lets out a woosh of breath. Louis sticks out his tongue so he doesn’t end up grinning like an idiot; Liam grins like an idiot anyway.

“This is gross,” Harry sighs.

“Get a room,” Niall moans.

“Can we play, maybe?” Zayn whines.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Louis whispers, trying to hide his definitely-not-too-red face, and taps the ball over to Liam.


End file.
